


Bereft

by SnarkyWench



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyWench/pseuds/SnarkyWench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post events of Arrow 3x09. How Felicity is coping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bereft

Everything hurt. 

Like someone had attached strings to every pore of her body and pulled every element of her outward. He was gone and her heart had splintered into so many pieces she would never again be considered whole.

The couch had been her refuge for the past three days. One eye on the door, one on the window and her fingers so tightly furled in the blanket that blood flow had long ago slowed to a thrum.

There was no hope. But he had achieved the miraculous before. And even as she thought this, Felicity disregarded it as a childish notion. Oliver was gone. 

John came and went. He had quickly learned that persuading her to eat was a lost cause. Sleep came fleetingly, regret soon after. She had had one moment to leave her heart bare to him, and she had failed. His words, his love, had rushed through her, making her heart beat faster until it cancelled out all sound. 

He had meant those three words. She realized now that all her trepidation at his muddled declarations had been for naught. Time apart, time lost to tentative hearts and painful yearning. He had loved her, and that had still not been enough. She had loved before, and been left. Twice. But that pain, of which had nearly broken her, was nothing like this. He had loved her back. And it was all too late.

The dreams, the ones that has been tucked away and then dashed, were now obliterated; almost as if they had never existed. Dreams that could not exist – dreams that would never exist.

So far, she had lived three days without him, and she had thousands more to live. 

John silently opened her door, leaving a paper bag by the door. He hadn’t given up on feeding her. The light streamed behind him, framing him in gold. For a moment she could narrow her gaze and believe Oliver had returned. But he hadn’t. 

John lowered his weight to the cushion beside her. He knew there was nothing to say. Their loss was shared. Words would be for later. His lifted a hand to her shoulder and she founds herself leaning into it. She could almost fool herself. John’s other hand found hers, peeling open her fingers with gentleness that belied his strength. The tissue fell to the floor like so many of the others. Tears had come, gone and then come all over again. There seemed no end to them.

In its place he left a weight. 

Cool and sharp, Felicity removed her gaze from the door to the small object in her palm. Four tiny arrowheads forged in silver, radiating out like the sun. Small and perfect, she raised her questioning eyes to John’s.

‘It’s for Sara. He made it.’ It was as though the act of speaking Oliver’s name were beyond him. That in speaking those three syllables, John would be letting him go. Felicity understood the inclination.

‘I c-c-a…’ the letters croaked from her throat. Whereas John couldn’t speak his name, Felicity couldn’t speak. Words couldn’t capture her loss, her regret or the depth of her pain. ‘I can’t. It’s not mine.’ She traced the four dimensions, rubbed the fine chain between her thumb and forefinger. Reluctantly she extended her hand to John’s. 

‘It wasn’t for me.’ John silently shakes his head refusing to take back the treasure. 

‘Everything was for you.’ He meant well but the words tear into her chest and steal her breath.

‘I don’t know how to do this…’ she falters as he closed her fingers over the charm. If she were stronger she refuse again. 

Within her fist, the metal grew hot and she opened her fingers slowly. A stream of light shone through the window and reflected off the silvery surface of the arrowheads. Felicity closed her eyes and let the light danced across her face. 

‘He’s not coming back.’ If she had hope left she would say it was a sign but she had no room for that.

‘I know.’ His voice, typically full of warmth and wisdom, was pared back. Pain and grief stripping back the richness of his baritone until it was small and unfamiliar. 

‘How do we do this?’ For the first time Felicity looked at John seeing her own confusion mirrored in his eyes.

He shrugged.

‘Together.’


End file.
